


Reforged

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Class Issues, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Theon is a dick, Theon is an emotional wreck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Theon couldn't have done this back at Winterfell, still being the Iron Prince who had to make sure any boy offering himself to him knew his place, didn't get the wrong idea about him, but what does it matter now? Who gives a shit anymore if he lets a blacksmith he barely knows fuck his arse like he's paying for it?





	Reforged

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf kink meme prompt: "Gendry/Theon, riding. Theon bouncing on Gendry's dick, because for some reason my brain thinks that would be hot."
> 
> So yeah, this was meant to be just crack pairing porn, but then I had to do a lot of au-ing to get these two in the same location (in short: Theon chooses Robb over his father when he returns to Pyke, Robb doesn't marry Jeyne and the RW doesn't happen, Arya is reunited with her family and Gendry goes with her rather than joining the BwB/getting kidnapped by Stannis and Mel). Then it kind of turned into an angstsplosion, as things I write are want to do.

_This isn't happening,_ Theon tells himself as he wraps his legs tighter around the blacksmith's waist, biting back moans as he bounces up and down, shameless as a whore along the length of his cock, Gendry's strong, calloused hand tightening around his prick and _fuck_ , he's definitely done this before. Theon's done it before too, with some of the stablehands back at Winterfell; the shyer, smarter ones bright enough not to go about whispering, but never like this before, he only ever jerked them off or let them suck his cock, no matter how he imagined–

“Careful!” he snaps as the blacksmith's other hand yanks at his new doublet, indigo silk brought in from Volantis. “Do you have any idea how much that cost me?”

Gendry scoffs. “Enough you can afford another,” he says, and Theon's about to snap back before the man's fingers dig in tighter at his hips, pulling him down faster, harder, further, and he can't hold back anymore, he moans and whines like a two-copper slut, _fuck_.

“Fuck, that's it, just like that, yeah,” mutters Gendry, eyes sliding closed in bliss as Theon rocks back towards him lewdly. _Well at least I make a good whore_. But what does it matter, who gives a shit what this fucking blacksmith thinks of him, what's he good for other than a cock to ride?

He is handsome though, thick black hair shining in the flickering firelight from the forge. Theon doesn't even know what he's doing here; it must have been Arya, sent him off to fetch her new pet commoner, and everyone's just been so thankful to see her alive since she got back that they've all done everything she asks. Still, Theon can see why she's gotten so attached, even if she might still be a bit young to have figured it out herself. But maybe she thinks she can marry him, that if she convinces Robb she's deep enough in love she can break the promise he's made of her. The Starks should all be bloody thanking him then. Arya wouldn't want her bit of rough anymore if she knew he was an invert, right?

Theon doesn't want to think about Robb right now, off with his men celebrating some great victory, great enough they say Lord Tywin will have to sue for peace soon, and once he does they can all go home again, or some sort of home, back to Winterfell, stopping only so Robb can pick up whatever fucking sow Walder Frey's picked for him and bring her back to make him heirs and other babes. And once they're back at Winterfell Robb will be King of the North unquestioned, and he'll send terms for surrender to Theon's father, and fuck how he doesn't want to think about that.

_You're not my son_ , Father spat when Theon told him, that he could not break the vow he'd made to his – his king. _You're one of them. You've no right to my banners, no right to my colours, no right to my throne... if I ever see you on these islands again I'll have your fucking head._

Theon scoffs. If only he knew – his last trueborn son, a deviant and what's worse, a weakling, taking it up the arse from a fucking blacksmith behind closed doors. Theon couldn't have done this back at Winterfell, still being the Iron Prince who had to make sure any boy offering himself to him knew his place, didn't get the wrong idea about him, but what does it matter now? Who gives a shit anymore if he lets a blacksmith he barely knows fuck his arse like he's paying for it?

“Fuck are you laughing at, then?” Gendry asks, and Theon only just then realises he's laughing aloud, which makes him laugh harder.

“How gently you're fucking me.”

The blacksmith raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?” he asks, and then Theon shudders as the man's fingers dig into his shoulder, hard enough to leave bruises. “Am I not meeting your expectations, m'lord?”

And then he can't fucking answer because Gendry just absolutely _pounds_ him, forcing his whole length in and out on every thrust and Theon loves it, he's screaming so loud the whole castle must be hearing him but they'll probably just think he's one of the camp followers one of the men is using to celebrate their victory, and he's not thinking about Robb but fuck, he's coming, fuck fuck fuck...

He makes a mess of it to, Gendry jerking his cock until his seed splashes out of him and lands all over his jerkin, which is fucking annoying even if, yes, the blacksmith is right and he can afford a new one. But it's not his money anymore, not now he's been exiled; like everything else he's relying on Robb's mercy and he knows Robb will give him whatever he asked because he feels so bad about what happened, but Theon doesn't want to be a charity case.

Gendry grunts and spends himself then, spilling seed white and salty between his legs (Theon has tasted his own, but not another man's, he's never dared – at least not while they were looking) and Theon whines at the feel of it staining him. _My first_ , he thinks with a bitter smile, and he wonders if he should blush and cry and blather about his maidenhead the way the girls he deflowered always seemed to.

Theon doesn't move as Gendry pauses to get his breath back, and for a moment it's almost comforting, being an a man's lap like this relaxing in his strength, soaking up the heat from the forge. Everything smells of sweat and seed and sex, and Theon nearly feels safe. That's terrifying, once he realises it.

“So,” Theon grins, doing his best to make it all sound like some hilarious jape, “what was that about then? Did you mistake me for one of your axes?”

That joke would have worked better with farmhand, someone who works with animals, and that must be why Gendry doesn't laugh, he just thinks it over and shrugs. “Well why not?” he says, and then a pained look crosses his face. “It's not like I'm promised to some highborn maid who'll be upset about me fucking men behind her back.” Despite himself, Theon can't help feeling that pain also. _Neither am I._ Gendry sighs and, for no reason Theon can possibly understand, leans his brow against Theon's own. “Are you alright?”

And Theon suddenly hates this man, this fucking blacksmith that Arya dragged halfway across Westeros for no reason, who's too lowborn for even Robb's fucking Freys to bother with, who acts like he has the right to fuck Theon up the arse and to ask if he's alright after like he actually gives a shit about the answer. _I am a prince. A prince in exile, but still a prince. I'm better than his fucking pity._

Theon shoves him away, ignoring the ache as he gets back to his feet. “If you say a word of this to anyone, I'll have your fucking head.”

The blacksmith's mouth hangs open like he's about to say something, but then he remembers himself, remembers his betters, and bites his tongue. He shrugs. “As you say, m'lord.”


End file.
